Chasing A Memory
by Seasonal Dreamer
Summary: Marco has no idea where he is or who he is. What happened to him? Read to find out :  Will be a shortish short stroy ;
1. Chapter 1

_**Chasing A Memory**_

Seasonal Dreamer

**Rating: **T (for language in one area :P)

**Disclaimer: **As usual, I don't own Degrassi or any of its characters, old or new.

**Author's Note: **Okay, so this story I'm thinking is only going to be two chapters long :P I just had to get it out of my system haha but I hope you guys like it :)

Read and review!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_Life really sucked sometimes._

That was basically what went through Marco del Rossi's mind as he sat cross-legged on white tile, twiddling his thumbs. Or...at least he _thought _it was tile. He really hadn't a clue where he was, or why he even thought that. It was a strange feeling.

A politely interested expression covered his face as he observed his surroundings. Everything around the boy was just...white. There was no sense of depth, no ceiling as far as Marco could tell, no walls...just _white._ And the crazy thing was, Marco neither knew how he got here nor where he was before this, and it didn't seem to bother him one bit. He couldn't even remember his own _name,_ but this unnatural blasé feeling seemed to have taken control of his better judgement. It was almost like he was wasn't surprised by any of this.

Marco rose to his feet, brushing himself off as a force of habit; there wasn't any dirt in this place. He looked down at himself, curious as to what he looked like. The fact that he didn't know didn't really strike him as odd, though he supposed it should've. Marco's eyes raked over his arms and hands, delighted that he would figure this out at least. The boy had olive, Italian looking skin, and judging by the hairs on his arms and legs, he figured he must have really dark hair. His hands travelled up to his hair and found it more on the long side, but surprisingly soft. He felt like he was discovering some unknown species as his eyes fell down once more to look at his clothes. Marco was wearing light blue jeans, a dark navy blue shirt, and a black leather jacket. He found he rather liked these clothes, but he couldn't remember ever owning them. Which wasn't exactly a shock.

The Italian looked up again, placing his hands in his pockets and glancing around himself one more time. Given the odd circumstances, Marco came to two logical conclusions as to where he could be. Either he was lost in some overly sterile hospital, or he was dead, though he threw the latter in just for fun. "Hello?" he called out cautiously, hearing his voice echo all around him like he was in a really long tunnel. "Is anyone here?"

Silence. Marco sighed. Of course. So, he started walking, straining his brain as he tried to remember something, _anything_ about him...but he couldn't. He couldn't remember who his family had been, who his friends had been...nothing. Not even where he was born or where he was living. The only thing that he could make out in his mind's eye was a flurry of distorted shades of colours and a startling pair of piercing blue eyes. He entertained the thought that maybe they were his eyes and he had been looking in a mirror, but it didn't really make sense. They didn't seem to fit his tan complexion, but he would've loved it if they did. The blue eyes were just so beautiful.

All Marco seemed certain of, was that he wasn't supposed to be here. This place didn't have any colour but a blinding white, and they _definitely_ didn't have those blue eyes. So, now begged the question...

Where was he?

And, better yet, _why_ was he here?

Suddenly, a rather exuberant, Irish-accented voice sounded from behind him, "Why, Marco! What a surprise to see you here!"

Marco froze for a second before whirrling around to see an older man standing before him, smiling brilliantly. He had wise-looking, green eyes that twinkled down at him and white hair framing his kind face. In fact, his hair seemed almost as white as their surroundings.

Almost.

Marco raised an eyebrow. _So his name was Marco was it?_ _Interesting..._

The dark haired boy didn't even question how the man knew who he was, and though he didn't get the feeling that this man would be of any danger to him, for all he knew he was who brought him here. He wasn't going to take any chances. Marco clenched his fists in his pockets in preparation, eyeing the man suspiciously. "Um, hi? So, okay, not to sound rude, but who are you? And how did I get here? Where _is_ here exactly?"

The man touched his fingertips together, regarding him sadly. "Unfortunately, I...I hate to say this but as much as I love seeing you, if you're here it isn't necessarily a good thing."

Marco narrowed his eyes. "Go on."

The older man opened his eyes wide, shaking his head quickly, "Oh goodness, please don't think I had anything to do with bringing you here! In fact, though you are very welcome, I'd rather you _not_ be here." He sighed. "It's rather tragic, to be honest. I...oh, this is never an easy thing to tell someone. I absolutely _hate_ being the bearer of bad news, but...Marco my boy, I'm deeply sorry to tell you that you had a very terrible accident."

The Italian stared at him as if waiting for the punchline. "So I had an accident...so what? That still doesn't explain where I am, and anyways," Marco spread his arms out. "Look at me. I don't have a mark on me. Actually, I feel great."

The man shook his head, visibly upset. "That's my point. You _shouldn't_ feel good, Marco. To be honest, you should be in a considerable amount of agony."

"So...what're you saying? I'm dead is that it?" Marco snorted disbelievingly, but when the white haired man simply continued to look at him with a frown on his face, Marco couldn't help himself - he burst into laughter. "Right! I hate to break it to you, but you're crazy. No one can _tell_ me I'm dead."

The older gentleman bit his lip, looking at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry to have to tell you like this."

Marco rolled his eyes. "Seriously? This is a pretty well-played out prank. You almost got me going there."

"Think about it for a second," the man replied. "If this were a prank, why can't you remember who you are? Why can't you remember your family or your friends or where you come from? _Why_ does this place have no sense of perspective? You tell me, Marco. If you're not dead...where are you?"

The Italian shrugged. "I don't know, you brought me here. What did you drug me with?"

The corner of the man's mouth twitched as if he wanted to laugh, but he fought it back. Decidingly let down, he sighed. "I didn't _'drug'_ you with anything, and nor did I bring you here. Just...just _think _about it, Marco."

Marco looked at him after a few seconds, realization dawning on him. "You're not kidding, are you?" he asked softly.

The older man took a step closer to him, remorse in his voice, "I wish I were. You are far too young to be here."

Shaky, Marco glanced around him for the third time. This didn't make _sense. _What kind of situation could he have possibly gotten himself into? How could he be _dead? _"W-where exactly _is_ here?"

"This is a place I like to refer to as _'limbo.'_ Or, in basic terms, it's the 'inbetween' area of life and death. Fortunately," the man startled Marco by smiling widely again. "If you _are_ here then that means that you also have a choice."

"A choice?" he whispered.

"Yes," the man nodded. "You get to choose whether or not you, well, 'move on' or not. If you go on, you won't ever get your memory back." At Marco's confused look, he added, "It'll be kinder that way. Trust me. But, you can also return to earth if you'd like."

Marco stared at him. He could go back? "Why wouldn't I-" he started, not understanding anything.

"Not everything is always black and white. There're technicalities to consider."

"Like?" he prodded, but he gasped as he was hit with a sudden force of memories, and it was so over whelming that he blacked out and fell to the ground with a thud.

* * *

><p><em>A six year old Marco shoved his bright yellow shovel into the sand, giggling as he tried making a castle exactly like the ones he'd seen on the t.v. shows. He carefully balanced the wet sand in his shovel before plopping it messily into the bucket, pleased with himself as he quickly flipped it over.<em>

_"Marco! Stop digging in the sand and come in for lunch!" Mrs. del Rossi demanded from the front door of their house._

_Marco dropped his shovel and called, "Okay Mom! But, can I play with Spinner after lunch? He just got a new toy!"_

_His mom smiled amusedly. "If you come in _right this second,_ then yes."_

_The little boy beamed as he jumped up and ran towards her, grinning, "Thanks Mom!"_

* * *

><p><em>"You're looking taller these days," Mr. del Rossi remarked, looking over his newpaper at a now nine year old Marco.<em>

_Marco picked moodily at his cereal. "Not really, Dad. I'm _still_ the shortest guy in my class." He sighed. "I'm _never_ going to be tall."_

_"Probably not-" Mr. del Rossi replied absent-mindly until his wife smacked him on the head with a wooden spoon. Marco made a face; that was the spoon she'd been using to make their slow-cooking soup for dinner. Gross. "I mean-!" his father replied hurriedly in his booming voice. "Of course you will! The del Rossi's have always been ladies men." He winked._

_Marco glanced down at his cereal, face paling slightly at the comment, but neither parent noticed._

_They didn't have a clue._

* * *

><p><em>"What do you mean you'r e gay!" Marco's father roared. Marco's mother simply stood by the staircase, her eyes watery and downcast. She did nothing to stop her husband's terrible rant, cursing and insulting her only son. She just stood there, watching the whole thing.<em>

_Fifteen year old Marco winced at his tone. "I mean," he replied quietly, anticipating a storm. "I like...guys."_

_Pain exploded on the side of his face as his father slapped him with as much force as he could possibly muster. "Do not let me hear you talk like this again," he snarled venomously before storming up the stairs, leaving Marco standing alone in the living room, tears slowly making their way down his face._

* * *

><p><em>"Marco!" a lovely voice called from behind the Italian.<em>

_He turned around and greeted the man with curly blonde hair running towards him with a big grin. "Yes, can I help you?" Marco teased as he reached him._

_"Is that the best you've got?" the man smiled, brushing Marco's dark hair behind his ears lovingly. "What ever happened to, 'Good morning Dylan, the love of my life, don't you look incredibly handsome today,'?"_

_Marco giggled, "Is that who you are?"_

_Dylan growled playfully in his throat, pulling the dark haired boy into a dizzying kiss. "Does that convince you?"_

_"Hmm...I think I could do better," he whispered, leaning upwards._

_"Dude, chill." Marco pulled away and saw Spinner, standing with Dylan's sister Paige, smirking at him. "You're not going off to war."_

_Paige smacked her boyfriend's shoulder reproachfully. "Leave them alone, Spin. I think it's adorable."_

_"Whatever. Now, are we going to get going or what?" Spinner asked. "'Cause I specifically remember _you _saying we would get free tickets to your hockey game," he pointed at Dylan almost accusatorily. "As in we don't pay for any of it."_

_Dylan rolled his eyes. "Yes Spinner, you'll get your free ticket." He glanced at his watch. "But you're right, we should get going."_

* * *

><p><em>"You know, I really hate filthy faggots like you," a large, muscular man growled, winding up and punching Marco in the stomach as his idiotic friends held him in place.<em>

_The breath was knocked out of him and he whimpered to himself, praying for nothing more than someone to save him. But he knew that was impossible. Dylan was playing his hockey game and his friends were in the arena, the fact that Marco was gone probably not even registering in their brains. He'd only left for a moment before the game was supposed to start as he had been alarmed to see that he had seven missed calls from home. That was never good._

_But now, Marco would rather face irate parents than these group of homophobes who seemed bent on torturing him. How they'd realised he was gay, Marco hadn't the faintest idea. It was like they had some built-in radar for people like him. And that made him wonder how many other poor guys they'd beaten up._

_The hooded man, that Marco had labeled as the leader, in front of him punched him in the face and Marco cried out in pain. _Please make it stop,_ he begged, eyes firmly shut._

_"Oh my God...MARCO!'_

_The Italian's heart, despite the pain, flooded with relief; he recognized that voice. Dylan had found him. It never registered in his mind that Dylan shouldn't be here, that he should be playing hockey, but he couldn't say he would be disappointed._

_"You bastards! Leave him alone!" Dylan shouted murderously and the sound of feet against pavement, the sound of hope, came closer and closer-_

_Until something cold pressed itself against Marco's temple._

_Dylan came to an abrupt stop, and the brown haired boy's heart plummeted once more. "Let's...let's just calm down here," the blonde's voice pleaded shakily. "Just let him go. We can all just pretend this never happened and you'll never see us again. I promise. Please."_

_"Not feeling so brave anymore, now are you?" the man standing to his right sneered, and the click of a gun being loaded seemed to sound a thousand times louder then it should've. "You see, the problem with never seen this faggot again-" Dylan's eyes glowed with fury, "-is that he gets to go free. We're not too satisfied with that, are we boys?" There was a chorus of mumbled, 'Like hell we ain't!' from behind Marco's head. But the leader paused, narrowing his eyes at Dylan and moving his gun from Marco's head to Dylan's chest. "Why do you care? You his _'boyfriend'_ or something?" he mocked._

_Marco locked eyes with Dylan's, and they begged him to lie. No. Of course Dylan wasn't his boyfriend. Of course Dylan wasn't gay. Marco was just a friend...Just a friend..._

_And Dylan, fear penetrating his own heart, complied. "N-no. He's just...a friend of my sister's. And if I have to explain to her that her best friend was murdered right before me and I didn't do anything to stop it, then I can guarantee you we'll _both_ be sorry."_

_The men laughed, shoving Marco to the ground and moving the gun back to pointing at the Italian. "I think I'll take my chances."_

_Marco's pure terror over came him and he sprung up to his feet while his bullies were preoccupied, instinct taking control as and he started sprinting away. He didn't bother worrying about his boyfriend; they wouldn't kill Dylan. He wasn't gay as far as they knew, and if he was smart he would continue to allow them to believe it. But him...they _would_ kill him._

_But, the sound of the gun being fired was the last thing Marco heard. Both Dylan and Marco fell to the ground, one from the fear of seeing the other shot, and the other from feeling the bullet slice through his skin._

_Marco yelped and landed with a thud, motionless as the group cackled gleefully._

_And he remained that way._

* * *

><p>What did you guys think? :)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chasing A Memory**_

Seasonal Dreamer

**Rating: **T, just to keep it constant :)

**Author's Note:** Hi! :D Okay, so this is the last chapter :P Yes, yes I know, it's not a lot, but I did say it would be a shortie :) And I would love to thank **ellielovesdtng** for always reviewing on my stories, **kdoc27** for the favourite, and anyone else who reads my stories :) I love you guys! I hope you like this last chapter! :)

Read and Review!

* * *

><p>Marco opened his eyes, his head ringing from all the memories that were just played before him...<p>

To see a large pair of green eyes less than a milimetre away staring back at him.

"Gah!" he cried, launching up and away, his heart pounding. Clutching his chest, Marco gasped angrily, "Haven't you ever heard of personal space? You damn near gave me a heart attack!"

Seeming amused by this statement, the older man simply sat back on his heels and observed him. "Do you remember everything now?" he asked quietly.

_How could I not? It's not every day I get to witness my own murder,_ the Italian noted dryly. But still, the calmness of this older man irritated him for some reason. He glowered at him and stood up. "Who _are_ you?"

The white haired man stood up as well, replying cheerfully, "Well, I don't have a specific name exactly. I'm happy with whatever you decide to call me."

Marco eyed him weirdly. _How can he not have a name?_ "I get to _name_ you?"

"Mhmm," the man nodded enthusiastically.

"Um. Okay then. Uh...you can be...um...oh I don't know, Bill. Your name is Bill." He didn't think he could have possibly come up with a more average name than that.

'Bill' beamed. "Wonderful! Now, tell me what you saw."

"Myself dying," he said bluntly. "Is that really how I got here? I got shot right in front of-" he blushed an astonishing shade of red.

But Bill simply smiled. "You can say it, I won't kill you," he laughed strangely. "You got, er, shot in front of your boyfriend. Dylan." However, Bill's simper fell almost instantaneously after that. "It's horrible, really. Dylan really loved you. And to have witnessed that..." he shuddered. "He's feeling so guilty. He thinks he could've done more to save you. He's spent the past couple of days crying his eyes out, the poor thing."

_"Days?"_ Marco gaped. How could it have been _days_ since that happened?

Bill nodded, saying gently, "Life support doesn't always work one hundred percent of the time."

Marco felt ashamed. He knew he shouldn't be, it wasn't his fault that those people killed him, but still. He felt like he should've- "Wait," Marco blurted out. "I can go back right? I don't have to be dead right _now!"_ He grinned.

But Bill hesitated. "Well, no-"

"Then what's the problem? I'll just go back and be with Dylan again."

Bill sighed sadly, shaking his head. This bugged the Italian. "It's...not that simple Marco. Yes, you can go back, but I'm afraid that if you do, Dylan and your friends will be the only reason for you to return." He motioned for Marco to follow him as he started walking, and he followed, confused. "Your parents, depite the circumstances, won't ever treat you like they used to. I think you saw how they reacted." He gave Marco a knowing look. "It won't be like the perfect family life you had when you were ten years old."

Marco shrugged, though this bothered him slightly. "So what? I have my friends don't I?"

"Yes, but they've already given up on you ever returning. The only reason you _can_ return, is because Dylan won't let you go." Bill replied gently. "That's why this place was created. For people who still have someone back on Earth holding on to them, but frankly, your time is running out."

"Then what am I-?" Marco stated furiously, panicking that he was wasting his time.

Bill held up his hand. "This is important. There's also the fact that your body won't ever be the same again. You'll be in a wheelchair unless they can invent some miracle drug that can repair spine damage. You'll be on medication that you'll have to take every day for the rest of your life, including pain killers for the first few months...In short, life will be so much harder for you."

Marco bit his lip. _Crap. A wheelchair? _"Oh," he said, suddenly unsure now. "Well, what happens to me if I don't go back?"

The older man remarked dreamily, "You'll be in the most beautiful place you could ever imagine. You'll be without Dylan, but he should join you someday, along with your friends. However, on Earth, Dylan will be miserable for the rest of his life. He won't ever love anyone again, and he'll quit hockey because going back would remind him of what happened to you."

Marco groaned. This kind of complicated things. Basically, he needed to decide between Dylan's happiness, or his own. Not that he thought he wouldn't be happy on Earth, but being in the 'most beautiful place he could ever imagine' seemed just a tad better then being a cripple the rest of his life. Plus, Dylan _would_ meet him eventually. Oh...but his memory... Wouldn't he lose that again? "Um..." he stammered.

Bill smiled slightly again. "Here's what I'm going to do. I'll send you back to Earth for an hour. _Just_ to take a look at what you'll be giving up if you do go on. It's kind of hard to make a decision if you can't really remember it," he winked.

The brown haired boy nodded appreciatively. "Thanks."

"Remember," the man warned. "One hour. Make the most of it."

* * *

><p>Marco landed on his back with a sickening thud. He moaned, rolling over on to his side. <em>Damn it Bill, <em>he gritted his teeth. _Couldn't he have found a more comfortable way for me to land?_ The brown haired boy slowly picked himself up, wincing slightly, but the pain was quickly evaporating. How could a dead person feel pain anyway? Wasn't there like a law against that?

Scratching his head, Marco looked around. It looked like he was standing in an empty hallway, only these white walls paled drastically in comparence to the white he had just a few seconds ago been surrounded by.

But he was confused. _Where am I now?_ Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere he recognized? Somewhere that held some special memory or something? Why was he _here?_ Wherever..._'here'_ was.

However, even as he thought this, there was a sudden bustling of people around him, appearing somehow out of thin air. To say they scared the bejeezus out of him would be an understatement. Ladies in scrubs carrying blood samples were walking around...and through...him. That, or talking either reassuringly to patients or chatting adamantly to each other. Doctors carried clip boards and prepared for surgeries or meetings with their patients, secretaries answered phones behind their desks...All in all, this seemed like an ordinary hospital day.

But Marco knew different. Somewhere in this building...his body was lying lifeless. He was now sure of this. For some reason, there was something here that Bill wanted him to see before he made his decision. Though he wasn't too sure what seeing his own dead body would make him realise. They hadn't covered him up or buried him yet because, if they had, he wouldn't have been here, so he must've died only a little while ago in this, erm, 'time period.'

The brown haired boy simply shook his head. _Nothing_ surprised him anymore.

He wandered any which way down any which hallway, carefully observant of the time and feeling person after person glide through him. It sent a shiver up his spine everytime that happened, like he had just hit his funny bone or something. He didn't like it. It had to be the most uncomfortable feeling he could ever remember having. Though, he supposed that wasn't really saying much since he barely remembered that his name was Marco, but still. And anyways, with a busy place like this, having someone walk through him was inevitable. So he just had to suck it up.

The clock chimed as fifteen minutes went by, and Marco bit his lip worriedly. Where was he supposed to be?

But Marco came to a forceful halt in front of a patient's doorway as if someone had just tugged on his collar. He stared at it curiously before slowly walking through...

And he got the shock of his life.

Marco stared at his own body lying on the hospital bed, looking broken. Even though he had accepted what Bill had told him, he found it never really sunk in that he was dead. At least, not until now. There was just something extremely off-putting about seeing your own deceased body, and it sent shivers up his spine. Marco's mouth gaped open and he rubbed his eyes before looking at himself again. This was just so weird.

Slowly, Marco tip-toed towards himself, almost as if afraid he'd wake himself up. He stared down at his emotionless face before cautiously reaching over and touching his cheek. Marco gasped as his fingers went right through the Marco lying on the bed's skin. Eyes wide, he backed away from his body, creeped out.

But something else caught his attention.

A pair of silent, sad feet entered the room. His mere presence radiated sorrow as the Marco standing upright whipped his head to the side to see a curly-haired blonde standing at the doorway. His crystal blue eyes were red around the brim and he simply gazed at the Marco lying unconscious in the bed. A bouquet of flowers were held in his hand and he looked like he could stare at his boyfriend for the rest of his life.

"D...Dylan?" Marco stammered. He figured he really shouldn't be surprised to see him here, but he never expected to see him so soon. "What're you-"

But he instantly shut his mouth as Dylan started speaking himself. "Good morning, my love," he whispered softly, and it pained Marco to see tears streaming freely down his face. The blonde walked quietly over to Marco's body, laying the bouquet on his side table and gently brushing a lock of hair that had fallen over Marco's face away. "I know you're...you're gone," he choked, slowly kneeling down so he was eye level with the boy. "But I can't help but hope that maybe...you can still hear me."

"Dylan-"

"I love you," his voice quivered into Marco's ear. "I...I can't..." he pressed his fingers to his trembling lips. "I don't know h-how I'll live w-without you, b-but I guess I b-better learn to try." He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the bed, tears falling freely from his eyes like he didn't care who saw. "I w-won't ever forget you," he sobbed. "I'll always l-love you. You...you w-were my better half. You b-brought out the best in me. You w-were...you _are_ m-my entire world." He leaned up and kissed his hair lovingly, and the Marco watching this felt his heart break. Dylan had never said anything so beautiful to him before. He knew Dylan had loved him...he just never knew how much.

Marco slowly walked over to Dylan, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. The Italian felt his eyes water as he pressed his ghost-like lips to Dylan's neck and breathed, "I'm so sorry."

He hadn't thought that the blonde could feel him, but the blue eyed boy shivered and closed his eyes. "I miss you," Dylan said quietly. "Every m-minute I keep replaying that night. What I could've done...how much I wish it was me that d-died instead of you. How much I want you to come back. I...I just miss you so m-much." Marco just wanted to take all of his pain away, and he knew there was only one way he could do that.

But.

Marco stared over Dylan's shoulder at his own body, distorted and looking like he obviously went through a lot of pain. Did he really want to go back to that? He loved Dylan...but that would be his only reason for returning.

If Marco could simply have his memory taken away and go to a happier place...completely forget the fact that Dylan was down here suffering...

Would he do it?

Because in the end, this wasn't about Dylan or his friends or anyone. This was about him. About what _he_ wanted.

And honestly...

Did he really want to come back?

* * *

><p>Marco looked at Bill, wiping his eyes as he nodded. "I'm sure."<p>

Bill smiled sadly, placing his hand on Marco's shoulder. "As long as this is what you want...then I'm happy for you."

The Italian took a deep breath. "How do I-?"

"Oh!" The older man took a few steps to the left and turned the handle of a white door that Marco had never realised was there. "This is the door you want. I hope you're making the right decision."

Marco gave him a small, appreciative smile. For some reason, he was almost sad to go. "I know you don't think it is, but for me...I've always settled for damn near everything my entire life. Dylan was that only exception, but...I don't want to settle anymore. I really think this is what's best for me." He held out his hand and Bill took it. "Maybe you'll come see me sometime?"

Bill laughed. "Much appreciated, but I don't think I'd be allowed up there. I was put here for a reason."

The brown haired boy walked over to the door and gazed into the light that was coming out of it. It was hypnotizing.

"Wait! I forgot!" Bill cried, grabbing Marco's shoulder before he could walk through the door. He held a glass of purple liquid. Marco didn't even bother to wonder where that came from. "This'll re-erase your memory." He grinned at Marco's raised eyebrows. "Less confusing that way."

Marco shrugged numbly. He took the cup hesitantly, eyeing it with suspicion incase Bill was trying to poison him or something, before sipping it. It was tasteless, but he drank it anyway. Instantly the Italian felt woosy and he dropped the cup, staggering the only way he could distinguish - forward.

He fell through the light, and it blinded him almost beyond coherency. Except for one, blissful moment where the boy flashed back to the fading memory of Dylan, smiling at him the only way he could, before the light consumed him altogether.

* * *

><p>The End!<p>

Was it sad? How'd I do? :) Review please!


	3. IMPORTANT NOTICE

DON'T PANIC.

If you don't remember favouriting and/or following me, you're not going crazy. You've just done so while I was under a different name.

I'm still the same author; my name has just been changed. Why, you ask? Well, it's a bit of a funny story.

You see, some 'followers' I guess you can call them have added me on Facebook, and I'm not discrediting that; I love talking to you guys. But being the fool that I was and using my real name as my (former) username, some have abused the faith I put in you guys. For the past little while, I've been getting an alarming amount of messages on my Facebook from people who really didn't become my friend to talk about writing 'so to speak.' All the people who have done this have been blocked and unfriended and all that (if you haven't been blocked, then don't worry about this; we're still friends!), but I'm forced to change my name.

Unfortunately, in nearly all of my stories (if not all) I have listed my (former) username, so starting TOMORROW MAY 1ST I am going to be reuploading all of my stories with the changed name listed. Don't worry; nothing else will be changed, and any stories that you favourited/followed should still be accessible to you. But sadly, I'm afraid that all of your lovely reviews might be erased Please don't feel the need to re-review them, but if you are so inclined, they will always be appreciated.

And I must ask to any of you that are my friends on Facebook that I haven't blocked, PLEASE do not talk about any of my stories on my wall. Inbox me instead. I must be strict about this; starting tomorrow, if I find any comments regarding my works, they will be deleted. If you persist, I'm afraid you will also be unfriended and/or blocked.

I'm sorry for the inconvenience to the people who have been nothing but kind to me.

I'll be posting this notice in all of my stories as well as on my profile.


End file.
